@@@@@It wasn't Pam and it wasn't IlseThe
@@@@@It wasn't Pam and it wasn't IlseThe wheezy,
slightly emphysematic voice coming from the
answering machine belonged to Elizabeth Eastlake"Hello, Edgar," she said"One hopes you had a
fruitful afternoon and are enjoying your evening
out with Wireman as much as I am my evening in
with Misswell, I forget her name, but she's
very pleasantAnd one hopes you'll notice that I
have remembered your nameI'm enjoying one of my
clear patchesI love and treasure them, but they
make me sad, as wellIt's like being in a glider
and rising on a gust of wind above a low-lying
groundmistFor a little while one can see
everything so clearlyand at the same time one
knows the wind will die and one's glider will sink
back into the mist againDo you see?"
332
I saw, all rightThings were better for me now,
but that was the world I'd woken up to, one where
words clanged senselessly and memories were
scattered like lawn furniture after a windstormIt was a world where I had tried to communicate by
hitting people and the only two emotions I really
seemed capable of were fear and furyOne
progresses beyond that state (as Elizabeth might
say), but afterward one never quite loses the
conviction that reality is gossamerBehind its
webwork? ChaosThe real truth, maybe,
and the real truth is red"But enough of me, EdgarI called to ask a
questionAre you one who creates art for money,
or do you believe in art for art's sake? I'm sure
I asked when I met you - I'm almost positive - but
I can't remember your answerI believe it must be
art for art's sake, or Duma should not have called
youBut if you stay here for long
Clear anxiety crept into her voice"Edgar, one is sure you'll make a very nice
neighbor, I have no doubts on that score, but you
must take precautionsI think you have a daughter,
and I believe she visited y
